


Self Improvement

by freakylemurcat



Series: Two Good Mechs [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Education
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 21:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat
Summary: There had never been an Officers' Meeting like it. Prowl has plans as a result.(No one has yet been able to prove Jazz did this on purpose, but it's starting to seem likely.)





	Self Improvement

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sucker Punches](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021634) by [freakylemurcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat). 



> Direct continuation from [Too Much Information](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021634/chapters/40796096). 
> 
> It was a story about accidental voyeurism and aft fucking.
> 
> This is just a story about aft fucking.

After the disastrous display from the spycam, the Officers' Meeting had staggered to a halt. No bot seemed keen to prolong matters, even though Prowl was certain they had barely covered half the topics they were meant to discuss. He had complained as much but mechs had still left in pairs or more, until it had only been him and Jazz left, the saboteur typing distracted commands to the spybot as the door had closed behind Bluestreak and then…

Well.

Prowl hadn't expected the chairs could take the weight of two decent sized mechs, let alone when one of them was... bouncing quite so enthusiastically. And while he was the sort of mech to ask questions, it had seemed churlish and unwise to do so when his spike was deep in another's valve, so he had clung to the chair arms and flared his doorwings as he overloaded obediently.

After he had extracted himself - and put the table between them just in case of a repeat - Prowl had examined his evidence.

Point One - the videographic evidence of the Decepticons engaged in some deviant form of interface.

Point Two - the normally unflappable Jazz becoming instantly flustered to the point of being unable to shut the video off.

Point Three - the layers of drying lubricant currently smeared over his pelvic plating and thighs.

To be fair Jazz did normally run hot for him, and the showing that the Decepticons had put on would have most mechs revving their engines, but the level of enthusiasm had been noticeably above par. Prowl's pelvic protoform _ached_.

Therefore the hypothesis stood that Jazz had been excited by the idea of such activity. Prowl posed the question as such.

"Mech, is there energon or coolant in your tubes?" said Jazz, but without malice. He leant partway over the table, bumper nearly brushing the surface, a strange smile on his lips. "Just think about it, Prowler."

* * *

Prowl thinks about it. He's doomed to think about everything after all, and Jazz seems to believe it important.

Dry and logical though he might be, he is a mech with hot running energon. The video had had his panels heating fast and his fuel pump thumping, had distracted him enough that he had not minded when Jazz had started to grope him in a public place.

He thinks himself a relatively adventurous mech when it comes to interface, sometimes surprising Jazz with his ideas. Aft port play has been something had briefly crossed his processor, but it hasn't been more than a passing thought.

Prowl likes to go into a plan fully prepared, but Jazz had just been so _keen_.

Replaying the memory of the video whenever he has a spare moment just makes his fans run fast and his processor threaten to stall out. There isn't much to learn from this except exactly how much punishment Starscream's undercarriage could take. This is barely relevant to Prowl's studies, so he puts that away and goes a little further afield.

Back on Cybertron, the archives would have contained useful information and Prowl would have come away well educated, if wholly embarrassed. However this far from home, Prowl is dependant on whatever he can garner from the carefully curated archives on the Ark's much smaller banks. Nothing he finds is truly relevant, except a couple of frankly trashy pornographic novels.

He reads these anyway, curious, and then corners Jazz on an off-shift to rub off the excess charge.

This attempt failed it has become clear that the only way to achieve education is through discussion. Options remain limited; in any normal situation he would just ask Jazz himself, but he is not sure he wants to provoke hope if what he finds does not please him. The logical source of information on this physical endeavour is almost as unfortunate. 

* * *

  
"There have been enough injuries!" Ratchet grumbles with barely any prompting, digging through a cupboard and pulling something free with a triumphant noise. "I have seen too many mechs who don't grasp the concepts of patience and practise."

He drops a bottle into Prowl's servo. Prowl reads the label and the noise of his tactical unit firing into action is nearly audible in the medbay.

"We are not engaging in-" he sputters and just about manages to calm himself before he sets a siren off. He shoves the bottle back into Ratchet's hands. "Thank you. But this is unnecessary."

Ratchet looks at him like he is a micrometer tall and sets the lubricant on the desk. "'Not engaging'," he says, unbelieving, "You tried to tell Jazz that yet?"

* * *

 Perhaps there is nothing for it. Prowl comes away from the medbay equal parts embarrassed and determined, the bottle of lubricant secreted away in a subspace and a technical manual downloaded on a borrowed datapad.

Back in his relative youth, he had read this same datapad. Nearly every Cybertronian did, in some places it was loaded straight onto processors. It used to be a favourite subject for the few comedians and satirists on Cybertron; the dull, dry discussion of only the most boring methods of 'facing.

 _This_ is the Special Edition: Medic and Pervert optics only.

So if he skips the chapters on cabling and sparkplay, the importance of good firewalls and spark muffles - all very important but immediately irrelevant - he reaches the section on tactile interface.

Much of this he remembers too, but here at the back were five new chapters that make his processor thump.

Here is a handy guide to how to trick your intake valves not to clack shut against a spike, a near map of where the commonest nodes are typically arranged around an array - see how many you can hit at once! is the jaunty caption. There is a section on how you might stimulate rolling overloads, how to do your best to prompt a full reboot through interface alone. Prowl makes plenty of mental notes over the chapter on plateplay, where it gives exquisite instructions on how to spank your partner to both mech's delight.

It is a lot of information to provide his processor all at once, and takes the best part of his offshift to get to the crux of the matter.

The aftplay section is detailed and instructive. It comes with suggestions and rules. Some mech has added pictures, beautifully and obscenely detailed. Prowl reads it thoroughly and twice, and by the end is a humming, seething mess of curious charge.  
  
He nearly throws himself onto the berth, bringing the bottle of lubricant to hand and popping his panels.  
  
His valve cover slides back, already eased by the drips of lubricant oozing free. The cover over his aft port moves less willingly, rarely disturbed, and it takes a moment to transform it back. Once everything if exposed to the air, Prowl wriggles uncomfortably at the cool air on sensitive protoform. He presses a servo over his valve to encourage the external nodes, until his mesh is warm and slick, submitting to the urge to slip a digit instead and curl it against the firm sensors. The pleasure helps a little, makes his joints looser and steals away some of anxiety, and soon he reaches further back.  
  
Initially he recoils at the sensation, hesitant touches against normally ignored protoform. His digits are only slightly slick with his own lubricants, but for the first few moments he just rubs at the tightly closed iris and tries to get used to the feeling. His wrist brushes against his anterior node, keeping his charge purring along nicely, and slowly his port starts to relax. When it slackens enough, the tip of the first digit sinks in.  
  
It's dry and a little uncomfortable; Prowl pushes a little deeper, wincing at the burn and decides a little help is required. The lubricant is thinner than joint oil, seeps into the bends of his knuckles and slickens his digits. It's pleasant against his already warmed mesh as he slithers his servo back down.  
  
His digit sinks right in. The sensation gets odder, but in a pleasant way. When his wrist rubs his node again, the pleasure seems amplified and transmitted. There are scattered sensors deep inside his aft, awakening with the rub of his digit, and the fresh sensation is addictive. The iris of his port in particular is sensitive and now he rubs a second digit against it to encourage his charge to build.  
  
Soon he is slipping two digits into his aft port easily, stirring up the sensors.and then pulling back to abuse the slack rim. He would like three digits, but he ca  only fit the tip of the third in in this position, so he rolls onto his knees and chest, so he can reach back underneath his own doorwing.  
  
Oh it's _good_.

He can see what has tempted Jazz about this; he wants to _do_ this to Jazz himself. Wants that sleek, flexible form wrapped up underneath him, panting and desperate and as beautiful as only Jazz can be when he's charged up.

Prowl's whole frame burns with pleasure as he drives his digits a little deeper, the stretch momentarily that unpleasant burn before lust overwhelms him as his protoform relaxes. Jazz would open so prettily like this, Prowl has no doubt, would take everything Prowl offered with a grin and only ask for more. Prowl's valve clenches, nodes unfairly abandoned -the one downside of this mode of facing which would be easily tackled once Prowl had Jazz underneath him...

His tactical computer, silenced in the wash of pleasure, aches to start chewing at the problem of getting Jazz in his berth and in this position. It adds to his own hunger, his lust, the ache that spreads up from his pelvic array and burns into his spinal struts with each push of his digits. He slips his digits free and rubs over the soft flex of the port iris for a moment, to feel how his protoform shivers with anticipation and then plunges back into his rhythm.

Oh and if by any chance that Jazz doesn't want Prowl's spike up his port then at least Prowl can get _Jazz'_ spike up his own.

He overloads then and there, gritting his dentae against the cry that threatens. His valve clenches but it is the squeeze of his aft about his fingers, pulses of charge burning through the scattered nodes where his overload centres  
  
Everything is so much more sensitive, so much more amplified, he can manage only a moment more before he has to withdraw his digits and sprawl back amid the rumpled sheets to regain his strength.

Fine. Practice run successful. Parameters have been gauged. Prowl counts this as an interesting learning experience and lets his tac processor run rampant over the newfound data. The determined hum of the processor is almost lulling, and Prowl shutters his optics and relaxes onto the berth.

When his tac processor works through data it is an interesting experience. If he let it go full bore like he is now, it is like getting swept up in the stream of data, disconnected from the physical world as all processing power is diverted to think. Perhaps it is a waste of a high powered resource to use his tactical processor to ponder over the best way to get Jazz in berth, but it feels good to run a relatively simple simulation.

Really all he has to do is ask, and Jazz will likely hop into his lap and grin at him like he’s been offered a delightful gift.

But Prowl's tac processor likes to catastrophize. What if Jazz says no this time? What if he says no next time? What if his teasing has just been teasing and there has been no true want for Prowl to debase him or the other way round. Prowl's frame shifts uncomfortably and he suddenly finds himself pinned under an unexpected weight.

"Ah, sleeping beauty awakens!"

Prowl's conscious turns its attention back to the physical world. There is a perky frame sitting on his lap, leaning in curiously to try to peer into his optics. When he resets them the lenses lock onto Jazz' plush mouth, twisted pleasantly into a cheeky grin.

"You're hot when you're thinkin'"

"I'm always thinking," grumbles Prowl with faux irritation. Jazz is a pleasant weight on his thighs, frame humming with the soft thrum of subwoofers churning out a soft bass tune he hasn't quite switched off yet.

"And you're always hot." Jazz flickers half his visor off in a wink. It is remarkably lascivious for a mech with an optic band. "I think you've been thinking especially hard this time round," he continues, and Prowl realises a moment too late that he still has the datapad open in clear view. The lubricant dangles in Jazz's nimble fingers.

The urge to deny and bluster is strong, but then Jazz wriggles down, his aft bumping Prowl's panels and his whole torso rolling. Prowl has no defense but honesty.

"I was thinking hard," he gasps, servos going to clutch firm strong thighs. "About you."

"Yeah?" Jazz grinds down again. "You thinking about me doing anything in particular?"

Prowl is totally lost. Only Jazz does this to him. He can never factor how hot this mech makes him into his calculations.  
  
"I want to frag your aft," he blurts.  
  
Jazz giggles and leans in to kiss him, easing the instant burn of humiliation with his nimble glossa. By the time he is done, Prowl's cables are on fire with lust again.  
  
"Must be my lucky day," murmurs Jazz. "I'm just in the mood to get my aft fragged. Care to oblige?"

**Author's Note:**

> I can't write porn without writing porn inspired by own porn. I am my own issue.


End file.
